<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>OMGCP Pandemic Vignettes by rhysiana</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709694">OMGCP Pandemic Vignettes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysiana/pseuds/rhysiana'>rhysiana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Check Please! (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Covid-19 pandemic, In which the author projects shamelessly onto innocent fictional characters, Mostly Fluff, Multi, There are no prizes for guessing which ones hit closest to home but you can play anyway, With a little bit of self-doubt thrown in for seasoning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:41:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,795</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709694</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysiana/pseuds/rhysiana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One chapter per pairing (or character) of their reactions to the pandemic and social isolation.</p><p>Chapter 1: Lardo &amp; Shitty<br/>Chapter 2: Holster &amp; Ransom<br/>Chapter 3: Jack &amp; Bitty<br/>Chapter 4: Nursey &amp; Dex<br/>Chapter 5: Kent &amp; Twitter (ft. Jeff Troy and Carmen the Vegas showgirl)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi, Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Kent "Parse" Parson &amp; Jeff "Swoops" Troy, Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lardo & Shitty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lardo stares down at her worktable, so covered in art supplies barely any space to work remains: tubes of acrylic paint, boxes of pastels and charcoals, watercolor pencils, a tangle of clay cutting wire, shiny sequins ready to get all over everywhere and her Bedazzler, a scatter of markers she keeps meaning to collect and put away. So many media to choose from… and she can’t do anything. Nothing comes to her. No visions, no ideas, just the oppressive need to <em>make something</em> without any direction. This doesn’t happen to her. She doesn’t know what to do.</p><p>Arms wrap around her waist and she feels Shitty’s chin come to rest on top of her head. She relaxes back into him and feels it through his chest when he asks, “What’s up?”</p><p>She gestures helplessly at the mess in front of her. “I got nothin’.”</p><p>He hums and squeezes her a little tighter, but doesn’t say anything else, and she loves him for it. As much as his instinct is to try to fix every problem he sees, with words and statutes and arguments preferably, he’s never tried to do that with her art. Sure, he’ll help her bullshit an artist’s statement out of thin air with style and bedazzle shit until his fingers cramp, but he freely admits he has no idea how her artistic mind works, and he finds it fascinating.</p><p>She mostly finds it frustrating. Especially right now, when the world is on fire and everyone says it’s the artists that are going to get everyone through this quarantine/isolation/whatever it is period. “I’m supposed to be inspiring people,” she says with a betraying hitch in her breathing, and she hates it.</p><p>Shitty kisses the top of her head. “So you’ll inspire them after your brain is done processing more of this shit. It’s a lot to take in.”</p><p>And she knows that, she does, she’s read the articles about how they’re all experiencing collective grief, about what all the constant uncertainty and low-key terror is doing to their minds, but still her chest doesn’t relax until she hears him say it, just that tiny bit of outside confirmation that she isn’t actually a failure.</p><p>He steps away and catches her hand. “Wanna come help me look up precedent to answer questions on the eviction prevention forum?”</p><p>It’s not like she has anything better to do. “’Kay,” she says, but she snags a sketchbook as she follows him into the dining room. Just in case.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Holster & Ransom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Holster came home to find Ransom huddling under the dining table, leaning to the side a bit so he could still see the TV news around the edge of the couch. He bit back his usual shouted greeting and hastily deposited their work laptops and Ransom’s office plant on the kitchen counter.</p><p>He pulled another one of the chairs out of the way and sat on the floor near Ransom. He wouldn’t really fit under the table, but this was good enough. Ransom didn’t really want to be touched when he was like this anyway. It had been a good long while since the last time it happened, but Holster still knew how to handle it. </p><p>“Hey,” he said, trying to sound normal but dialing back his usual volume. “So what are we doing down here?”</p><p>Ransom darted one quick glance at Holster and then went back to staring at the TV. “I should have been a doctor by now. I should be helping.”</p><p>Ah, right. Ransom had talked to his parents last night. Holster should have expected this, really. The Oluransis had actually taken Ransom’s decision not to apply to med school with reasonably good grace once they realized he was serious, but from what Holster had overheard, last night’s call had been a long list of updates about how his sisters and their husbands were doing in their various hospital posts. Even the brother-in-law who usually stayed on the research side of things had been pulled back into patient practice.</p><p>“I’m letting everyone down,” Ransom whispered into his knees. “’m not living up to my potential.”</p><p>Holster tried not to wince when he remembered saying something to that effect when Ransom had first told <em>him</em> his decision. In the years since, though, he’d seen how much more relaxed Ransom was. How his desire to party no longer had that frantic, desperate edge to it, like he was trying to pack as much fun as possible into the few hours he allowed himself for downtime. He hadn’t had a panic attack since graduation.</p><p>Until now.</p><p>Holster tapped his fingers against his knees, considering. “You had good reasons to not go to med school,” he said. “And you can’t go back in time to do it differently. But you can change your mind, you know.”</p><p>Ransom looked over at him, his true attention on Holster now.</p><p>Holster allowed their shoulders to bump lightly. “I mean it. I love going to work with you every day, but if you decide you really do want to go to med school now, after you’ve had a chance to explore other paths, I’ll help you rock the MCAT. You won’t be ready for this pandemic, but you could be ready for the next one. The world is still going to need new doctors after this.”</p><p>Ransom blinked a few times, his shoulders coming down from his ears a little. “What if I still don’t really want to be a doctor, though?”</p><p>“Then it won’t change how much I love you, either way.”</p><p>And now Ransom was staring at him, shocked for an entirely different reason, but fuck it, if Holster couldn’t tell his best bro he was in love with him now, when could he?</p><p>“I’m gonna support your decision no matter what,” Holster said. “The only thing either of us has to do right now is live. That’s all we can do today.”</p><p>Ransom unfolded himself from under the table and pulled Holster up with him. “No, you just told me you loved me. I can think of several more things we can do today.”</p><p>They made it to the couch in a tangle of limbs and kissing, and with the last of his brainpower, Holster managed to fish the remote out of the cushions and turn off the news. The rest of the world could wait.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Jack & Bitty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had taken Jack a while to come down from the intensity of focusing on the Falconers’ playoff run after the rest of the NHL season was canceled, but at least he was in the same situation as everyone else in the league. There were people to commiserate with via text and phone and video call, plus he’d been preoccupied with trying to set up some sort of regular training regimen to stay in shape just in case games were allowed to continue after all.</p><p>It’s been over a month now, though, and they’ve all had to admit it’s not going to happen this year. Jack’s trainers have him settled into his new off-season plan that he can do entirely from home, and since the season never actually managed to get to the playoffs, he’s not even rehabbing any injuries or strains for once. The group chats and calls have fallen off too, now that the rest of the guys from the team are getting more absorbed in their families, taking this unprecedented time at home to help homeschool their kids or actually do “man things around the house,” as Thirdy put it.</p><p>But Jack and Bitty don’t have any kids, and their condo is in excellent repair. Bitty is clearly thrilled to have Jack around more, and was <em>extremely</em> relieved at the decision to cancel the rest of the season, but… Bitty’s busy. Possibly busier than he was before. Every morning he wakes up to a slew of comments on his vlog and email via his cookbook website, all asking for baking help.</p><p>“My goodness, all these people finally having to time to bake!” Bitty’d said a few weeks ago, when the flood really started to pick up. “This person wants to know how long they need to knead their pie dough for. Bless their hearts, they’re trying.”</p><p>Since then, Bitty’s stepped up his vlogs from his usual twice a week to every day, often as livestreams so he can answer questions. His producers and agent are ecstatic. And Jack is proud of him, he really is. Bitty’s knowledge and skills are exactly what people need right now. Jack… well, Jack mostly tries to stay out of his way.</p><p>This was working well for a while, but he’s finished all the books he’d bought to read on planes this season now, and hasn’t been able to settle on what to read next. He shouldn’t work out anymore today, he shouldn’t go for a walk, and he has no interest in the video games his younger teammates keep recommending, which is why he’s now sitting out on the balcony with his camera on the table next to him as an excuse to be out here.</p><p>He hears the door slide open behind him. “Here you are!” Bitty says, dropping into the other seat. He fans himself with the tea towel he had draped over one shoulder. “Lord, I didn’t think the concept of pound cake would be so hard for some people to understand.” He looks over at Jack with a smile. “How’ve you been, sweet pea? It seems like I hardly see you, even though we’re actually both home more than ever.”</p><p>“I’m good,” Jack says, and thinks about leaving it there… but this is Bitty. “Actually,” he confesses, “I’m bored and I’ve been trying not to get in your way.”</p><p>“Oh, honey!” Bitty straightens up in his chair, turning toward Jack even more, looking… excited? “You should have said something! I didn’t want to commandeer you when it seemed like you had your own stuff going on, but I have so many ideas about baking projects people can do together, with partners or roommates or kids.”</p><p>“So… you want my help?” Jack asks, just to be absolutely sure.</p><p>“Of course! Oh, this is going to be so fun. Stay right here, let me get my tablet and we can start making a list… So many recipes to try…”</p><p>Jack smiles and settles back in his chair again, enjoying the early spring sunshine a lot more now than he had been a few minutes ago.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I very seriously also considered having Jack get into painting miniatures for historical dioramas. His pandemic Instagram can become a hilarious split between extreme history nerding and food photography. </p><p>Possibly he also starts recreating particularly historic hockey games. Bad Bob gets a diorama of one of his Cup games for Christmas.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Nursey & Dex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nursey hasn’t left the apartment in weeks. He thinks this is probably bad, that he’s getting too comfortable with it, that he might be lucky to come out of this without some mild form of agoraphobia, which is a weird thing to think as a person who has needed to get extra pages added to his passport before, but he also thinks the good of staying away from other people as much as possible outweighs his future potential mental health issues.</p><p>Besides, it’s fine! He’s supposed to be writing anyway. And he’s finally getting around to blurbing some of those books his publisher keeps sending. He’s thinking about starting a review column, you know, somewhere. He hasn’t figured that part out yet. He should ask his agent. He is, when it comes down to it, uniquely qualified for the quarantine lifestyle.</p><p>He taps his pen on his open notebook and stares out the window. He wishes he could go see his parents at least, or they could come see him, but they just got back from out of the country and are doing an actual quarantine for the next two weeks, maybe three just to be sure. They had a video chat dinner last night, but it wasn’t the same.</p><p>He perks up when a pigeon lands on the sill. “Bert! It’s good to see you, buddy! Where’s Ernie today?”</p><p>…Okay, he’s starting to recognize and name individual city pigeons now; it’s possible he’s losing it just a tiny bit.</p><p>He has never been so relieved for his phone to ring in his life.</p><p>“Dex!” he exclaims, and desperately tries to rein it back in. Chill, he is chill. “How’s it going?”</p><p>Dex is not remotely fooled. “Well, that answers my question of how you’re holding up.”</p><p>Nursey scoffs, wishing he were actually offended. “I am totally fine. I’ve got this isolation thing down to a science.”</p><p>“Oh, well, if it’s a science…”</p><p>Nursey narrows his eyes and grins at the rhythm of their familiar banter at the same time. He feels both more and less unhinged than he did before the phone rang. “Are you just lonely, Poindexter? You know you’re always free to Skype me.”</p><p>“I was calling,” Dex says with an air of great patience, “to see if you have everything you need.”</p><p>Nursey deflates a little. Of course Dex still doesn’t think he can take care of himself. He gets caught for a moment between a righteous insistence that he’s a grown-ass adult now and wondering why he cares so much what Dex thinks before he stumbles back into the conversation with, “Yeah, my parents sent me a box of masks and gloves and stuff from one of their charities.” Because getting a care package from your parents sounds so adult. Jeez.</p><p>“Good, good, that’s good,” Dex says, and oh god, was he actually nervous? “Okay, look, maybe this is stupid, but here’s the thing. My job can be remote from anywhere, no problem, and I was going to go up to Maine so I could help my parents, but my mom is moving my grandparents into my room instead because their rest home is at risk and she really wants to keep the number of people in the house at a minimum, so then I thought maybe I should come stay with you instead.”</p><p>Nursey blinks at the pigeons on his sill for a few seconds, not sure he heard correctly. “With me?”</p><p>“Yes, with you,” Dex says, and it sounds like he might be clenching his teeth at how dense Nursey is being, but what did he honestly expect? “I know how you get. You act like you’re this loner poet, but, man, you played a team sport. Samwell is probably the smallest town you ever lived in–well, maybe Andover, I don’t know, I still don’t think that’s a real place–the point is, you have to be going a little out of your mind without at least one person around. And I’ve been isolating for going on a month here because my job let us all go remote pretty much right away, so I’m certified COVID-free.”</p><p>“I…”</p><p>“Was that a yes?”</p><p>“Yes?” Nursey hazards. The pigeon is now staring back at him. It looks judgemental. “Yes,” he repeats more firmly.</p><p>“Great, I’ll be there in a few hours. It’s not like the traffic will exactly be bad.”</p><p>“I’ll be here,” Nursey says faintly, but he’s grinning as the line goes dead.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I will make them roommates one way or another, so help me...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Kent & Twitter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>Kit’s Dad @parser90:</b> The only thing surprising about this is how long it took them to make this obvious play on my name. #NotMadJustDisappointed</p>
  <p>[Attached photo: a set of three cloth face masks in novelty Barbie fabrics fanned out on a patio table]<br/>
|<b><br/>
Jeff @jeffoftroy:</b> We had a lot of that fabric around after Carrie finished the girls’ quilts, and they thought you’d look so pretty!<b><br/>
</b>|<b><br/>
Kit’s Dad @parser90:</b> You say that like you don’t think I’m gonna wear them. My only regret is that I can’t borrow @insixinchheels’ Bedazzler like I normally would. #NeedsMoreBling<b><br/>
</b>|<b><br/>
Carmen con las frutas @insixinchheels:</b> Three words: glitter paint pens.<br/>
|<b><br/>
Kit’s Dad @parser90:</b> Oh hell yes. Now where did I put them…<br/>
|<br/>
<b>Kit’s Dad @parser90:</b> Crisis averted! They were in the kitchen junk drawer. #Obviously</p>
  <p><br/>
<br/>
<b>Kit’s Dad @parser90:</b> Fashion.</p>
  <p>[Attached photo: Kent in one of the Barbie masks, this time with all the words picked out in pink glitter and Barbie’s hair in gold, holding Kit up next to him, both wearing sunglasses next to his backyard pool]<b><br/>
</b></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p><b>Kit’s Dad @parser90:</b> But in all seriousness, people, I hope you’re all wearing masks when you go out, even if they’re not bomb as mine.<br/>
|<br/>
<b>Kit’s Dad @parser90:</b> Also stay the fuck at home. Listen to Britney, pet your cat, and tip your delivery people. We’re only going to get through this if we all work together.<br/>
|<br/>
<b>Jeff @jeffoftroy:</b> Another fine motivational speech from our captain. #MyRoleModel<br/>
|<br/>
<b>Kit’s Dad @parser90:</b> Don’t hate. You’re just jealous of my masks.<br/>
|<br/>
<b>Kit’s Dad @parser90:</b> Oh hey. Ask Elise if she’ll be the Barbie to my Ken next Halloween.<br/>
|<br/>
<b>Jeff @jeffoftroy:</b> She says yes, but she gets to pick which Ken you are. #YouAreBargainingWithaFiveYearOld<br/>
|<br/>
<b>Kit’s Dad @parser90:</b> Deal!</p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Seriously, how have none of them made this joke yet?</p><p>**Who is Carmen? Kent’s Vegas showgirl friend from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/7295029">one of my first fics</a>.</p><p>***Yes, I made Jeff married w/kids in this, sorry, but I needed someone on the team friendly enough for this to be lighthearted chirping.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>